Page 27 of Demetri
"Always. I want you to always come to me, Glory. For anything," Grace sniffles. "No more secrets. Promise me, no matter how bad; you won't keep anything like that from me again."
"I promise, Grace. No more secrets."
By the time Grace and I are done holding each other, and our tears have dried, I look over my shoulder, remembering we have an audience. The girls have kept quiet through the whole exchange; aside from the soft sound of their sorrow. When I glance behind me, I notice mine and Grace's breakthrough has drawn the attention of their men. Standing in the yard is Jake, Logan, Reid, Gabriel, Quinn, and Sam. Judging by the looks on their faces, I know if Ronan were still alive today, these men would bring an abundance of torture down on that monster. As I sit here on the cold, damp ground with my best friend, I surprisingly don't feel any shame or embarrassment. These people, after all, are my family. There is no pity in their eyes as they look at me — only love, support, and loyalty.
13
Demetri
The longer I stare at the computer screen, the more the numbers blur together. Rubbing my tired eyes, I blink a few times, focusing on the numbers at the bottom of the page. Those two container thefts cost me over two million dollars and some rather pissed off associates who had already paid half the cost upfront during negotiations.
Pushing myself away from my desk, I stand. "Where the fuck is Sergei?"
"Haven't heard from him since last night," Victor states standing as well; looking just as tired as I do. Pulling his phone from the inside of his pocket, he makes a call.
Twisting the top off a pill bottle, I pop the migraine medicine in my mouth, then wash it down with the rest of my coffee. I haven't slept since those few hours in bed, with Glory tucked into my side, and I'm still wearing the suit I wore the night before; the same suit stained with another man's blood. For now, all we have is a location, given to us by a desperate man in his final moments before Victor put a bullet in his head.
Tucking his phone away, Victor informs me, "he's not answering his phone." Victor follows me as I exit my office. "He's probably fucking around with Samara down at the strip club," he mentions.
I rub my temples to ease the pressure building in my head. Dealing with Sergei and his bullshit is not on my radar at the moment. Saying nothing, I decide to head upstairs and shower and deal with Sergei later. "I'm not to be disturbed for a couple of hours. Get Veno to take over for you and get some rest."
Victor nods and walks in the direction of the other men that have gathered in the foyer as I continue walking up the stairs. Once in my room, I close the door, shutting the world out for a few moments. Stripping from my day-old suit, I discard the articles of clothing in the hamper, then stride into the bathroom and start the shower.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Closing my eyes, I think about Glory. So much so, I can still smell the light scent of her perfume hanging in the air. Fuck she was much more than beautiful wearing that red dress. She surprised me yet again last night. Part of me expected more of a fight when I informed her, she would have to leave, and she wouldn't be returning to her apartment in Chicago. Instead, despite her sass, Glory listened and took in everything I was telling her.
Once steam fills the room, I step into the stall. The moment the hot water hits my skin, tension leaves my muscles, and my body relaxes. The past couple of years mostly spent in Polson without a doubt have been the best years of my life. Creating a bond with Logan, his wife Bella, and those grandchildren of mine have brought me so much joy. I've even become closer with Nikolai as he navigates and finds his path in life. But I also realize it's left my empire vulnerable in the process. My absence has created chaos amongst those who wish to harm me. Greed drives them. They want the control I have, and it encourages people to make a decision that will cost them their lives. And the only way to show people my empire is not for the taking is with action. No excuses. No second chances.
Sometime later,and somewhat recharged from the hour-long shower I took, I make my way downstairs. The smell of Borscht fills the air, causing my empty stomach to growl. Following the scent into the kitchen, I find Victor sitting at the prep table, eating. Mrs. Ivanov, who has been with the family since before Nikolai was born, is pulling freshly baked bread from the oven. She sits it on the stovetop.
"Smells good, Marta."
"I'll get you a bowl," she tells me as I sit on a stool opposite Victor. Marta places the bowl in front of me along with silverware. "Migraine again?" she questions as she waits for me to taste like she always does. I lift a bite to my mouth.
"Good as always, Marta. And to answer your question; yes, another migraine."
She scoffs at me as a mother would do to her child. "You should take better care of yourself, Mr. Volkov."
"Yes, I should."
"How is Nikolai? I haven't seen him in so long." The warmth in her eyes for my son shows. Marta is the closest thing to a grandmother Nikolai has ever had. She helped raise Nikolai and gave him the love his mother never did. For that, I will always be grateful to her, and she will always have a place in my family.
"Nikolai is doing well."
"Does he have a sweetheart yet?" Marta continues to ask questions, and I chuckle at her persistence to know more.
"I believe he has a soft spot for a young woman." I continue to eat my meal.
"That is good news. Nikolai's happiness makes me happy, as well." Marta turns back, toward the stove and stirs the simmering pot cooking on the stovetop.
Receiving a call, Victor excuses himself from the table and steps out of the kitchen as I'm finishing my meal. He's not gone long before reappearing, with a laptop in his grasp.
"Sir."
The tone in his voice has me looking in his direction.
"The men are sending surveillance footage captured early this morning," he tells me. I then look to Marta.
"Say no more." She throws her hands up. "I'll leave you men to your business." Wiping her hands down the front of her apron, Marta exits the room.
